Steel Rain
by presidentuziel
Summary: Harry Dresden is a wizard past his years. The world has been destroyed not by the supernatural, but by man's own hand. The Never-Never has been shattered as a result of the Great War. Harry is now known as the Druid of Shi-Cago, maintaining a great garden. His quiet twilight years are interrupted, however, with the arrival of the Brotherhood of Steel, and the threats they fight.
1. Trampling Boots

**Exclaimer: I have not read past the beginning of the fourth book, so excuse any Canon errors with the Dresden half of this. I understand that many do not consider Tactic as Fallout Canon. I think the events of Tactics happened in one way or another in Fallout, but not in the way that the game portrayed.**

I watched as the Humvees entered the city. They were covered in dust, rust, and blue paint. Each of the vehicles, one of them no less than an old Sherman tank, had a symbol with gold gears and a sword over it. Even though I am an old man, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden can still spot a Radscorpion from over ten miles. Mister rubbed against my leg. Mister had once been a cat. Now he was more like a hairless sabertooth tiger. He was seven feet long, had claws the size of my foot, and an attitude to back it up.

"I know, Mister. I feel it too."

Chicago had been lifeless for all but the Vault beneath it, and those that I had been able to save. Most of them had died and went off to greener pastures to found Tribes, but those Tribes were the ones that knew me best. But there were a lot of people in that convoy of trucks and humvees. Enough to found a sizable village in their own right. And they had vehicles. Vehicles that ran on gasoline. The last time I had seen a fossil fuel car was...Gosh, over a hundred years now. And they had enough to operate APC's.

"Come on, Mister. Let's go make sure they don't step on my garden."

Unfortunately, the newcomers went straight for what had been Lincoln park. Now it was my garden, a miniature slice of Eden in the middle of Chicago. They must have sent scouts to check the city out before coming here directly. I don't know who these people are, where they're from, or what they want, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let them stomp on my petunias.

Ever since the Bombs fell almost a hundred years ago, I've been doing everything I can to breathe life back into the world, as much as I can.

"Apartarum," I declared, and a hole in the Never-Never, or what's left of it, opens. I took three steps, and I'm at my garden shack in Lincoln Park. It's not my home, but I do have a bed in here, with a stash of guns and ammunition and a second Blasting rod and a few talismans. Magic gets you far in the wasteland, especially in a ravaged city like Chicago, but guns really help. And I've got a lot of guns, each with some kind of rune or enchantment on them. My favorite is the shotgun that never runs out of ammunition. I just cock the slide and shoot.

I stepped out of the shack and approached the gaggle of people. Some of them were dressed in brown or purple robes. Others were dressed in some sort of metal armor. Each of them was packing heat. I'm packing, too, in more ways than one. I made sure that my trusty old .45 can be clearly seen by the newcomers. But I also make it a point to lean on my blasting rod as a walking stick to give the 'Old Man' look. I'm pretty old, at two hundred twenty. I've come to terms with the idea that these are the last years of my life, but I can still hold my own and my bones don't hurt too much. I can still kill just about damn near everything that the Wasteland has been able to throw at me. But some of these guys are in Power Armor. I'm not so much worried about the Power Armor so much as I am the fact that they have it at all. Anyone who can get their mitts on something like that and keep it knows how to fight.

"Excuse me, sirs," I call to them, "Might I ask what you are doing in my garden?"

I do a convincing quivering old man, but it's an act. An act I've perfected over the last century. One of the people in purple robes turns to me. He wore these moon spectacles on his nose, which he had turned towards the sky as he looked down at me.

"Your garden?" he asked, his voice reflecting his appearance of snootiness.

"Yes, my garden. This garden has been tended to for generations since the Great War, and I won't have you mucking it up with your boots! Back!" I poke my stick at him to get him off the grass. The man in the robes backs up obediently.

"I was told nobody lived here," he growled at one of the younger-looking men. This guy was wrapped in leather armor with metal plates on the chest. It wasn't true metal armor but it probably beat wrapping up in Brahmin skin.

"We didn't see anybody when we scouted it," the younger man insisted.

"You must excuse our intrusion, mister..." the man in the robes fished for my name.

"Dresden," I said. I didn't see any reason to lie, but I didn't see any reason to give him my full name either, "And you will be forgiven when you tell me who you are, and what you're doing in my city."

The man's nose went parallel to the ground, and the man smiled. He had whiting brown hair and hazel eyes. His smile was actually somewhat kindly. I didn't look into his eyes, I didn't care to know more about this man.

"I am Senior Scribe Erwin Packer. We are a contingent of the Brotherhood of Steel, and we are here to scavenge the city for technology, find recruits, and gather whatever knowledge of the Old World we can find. We are also here to expand our numbers and provide education and protection to the local primitives, Mister Dresden."

Brotherhood of Steel, huh?

"Where did you come from?"

"We are from out west, in California. We were dispatched to chase after an enemy of ours that fled the region after a war. I suspect you may have seen the Super Mutants a time or two in recent years?"

"Big, green humanoids with more guns than brains?"

"That would be them."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I had encountered the Super Mutants, and I'd made fast friends with some of them. Others I had to shoot to keep them from trampling on the garden. They kept their distance and I didn't want to start trouble with them.

"I've dealt with a few. They mostly leave me alone," I said, "Mostly because THEY KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY STEP ON MY GARDEN!"

I pointed my blasting rod at one of the Brotherhood of Steel guys who was getting too far into my garden. The guy paused and stared at me like a Brahmin stares at a charging Radscorpion.

"I thought you were here to collect technology and help the local savages?"

"Primitives," Scribe Packer corrected, "Not savages. Savages are raiders and tyrants. Primitives simply are uneducated. Our charter was to chase after the Super Mutants but we are also to live out here, Mister Dresden, and so establishing communication, education, and infrastructure is important for our operations."

I looked over the Scribe again. He seemed to be telling em the truth, or believed what he was telling me. I know liars when I see them, this guy isn't one. Just a snob.

"Right. Well. If you want any fruit or vegetables or flowers, you'll have to barter for them, and I can't provide too many. I can't supply an army."

"We just want to know how your family managed to do this, Mister Dresden, so we might be able to replicate it elsewhere," Scribe Packer said.

"Magic," I teased. It was technically true. I'd used magic to remove poisons and radiation from the soil and to purify the air. A bit to engineer new plants to do that for me. But mostly it was just good old fashioned hard work and patience. This wasn't even the only garden anymore, I'd started five more, and I helped some of the tribes surrounding the area to cleanse their fields so they could grow maize and cabbages and potatoes.

"Right," the Scribe sighed.

"Listen, you don't want to be out here during the night. That building over there is pretty stable, you can use it. I've got a stash of guns and tools in there, please don't steal them, they're older than any four of you combined. Don't get cozy though. I won't be your home."

I didn't really want them to stick around but I also didn't want them to get torn apart by Deathclaws or Glowpires.

"Thank you Mister Dresden, we appreciate your cooperation. Might you be willing to enlighten us on your...Magic?" the Scribe asked. I smirked.

"It's fifty bucks an hour," I said. It was an old joke. Probably older than anything they'd ever heard, and it was joke only I understood.

"Right. I have...A collection of bottle caps for dealing with local trade, if that's what you wish. Let's talk for a little while."

The Brotherhood guys went about establishing themselves in the building I'd pointed out to them very quickly. By the time Packer and I were in the second floor kitchen, they'd already set up lights and some cables, which they turned on...And promptly fizzled out on them. They blamed it on radiation. I knew it was actually me; wizards and technology don't get along, which is why I don't usually worry about stray robots putting a laser in my back.

He put the bottle caps on the table and I pocketed them. The tribals used bottle caps as currency, so I used it as currency whenever I needed to trade, though usually they just gave me whatever I wanted because I helped them so many times.

"So Mister Dresden, you say your family has been working the park for generations?"

"No, I said that the garden had been tended to for generations."

"So this isn't necessarily a family business?"

"Well my daughter used to help me out but she moved on to a better place."

"I'm sorry to hear that..."

"Why? Cold Water's a great town. They have a casino and everything. She loves it there. She visits once in a while, too."

"She comes up all the way from Colorado to visit you?"

"She's tough. But it's been five years since I saw her last."

"So you were an apprentice at one point, then?"

"Once, yeah," this guy was asking all the wrong questions.

"Would you mind taking one of ours as yours, so that we might be able to spread your knowledge on how you've purified the land and maintained the park?"

I snorted, "Sorry buddy, but anyone you've got either doesn't have the spark, or they're too old. Besides, I'm too old to take an apprentice."

"That is too bad. Still, I ask that you help us with this. It would be a shame for all that knowledge to go to waste..."

"It didn't help us stop the Great War," I muttered. A silence fell on the room, and he simply nodded.

"That's what we're all about, Mister Dresden: Gathering knowledge to prevent something like the Great War from ever happening again."

I smiled; that's the kind of idealism I like to hear. But whether or not he means it? That remains to be seen.

"I got gardening books that I've written that you might want to copy. I can't tell you how to clean the soil of radiation and other poisons, but there are more...Mundane methods of doing so. I'll let you take a few of my plants, too. I bred them to remove radiation. But the methods I use overall? I'm afraid that knowledge will die with me."

"That is a tragedy. But I thank you, Mister Dresden, for your contributions."

"Just make sure you share that knowledge. It's important that people know how to do those things and understand it. Don't hoard it. I share copies of those books all the time. Doesn't matter to me who has access to the stuff, so long as people are helping breath life back into the world."

He nodded, "Those are the ideals that make us the exception, rather than the rule, among the Brotherhood. They're a conservative, stubborn lot that refuse to include others."

"I know the type."

"Some knowledge is dangerous, and we keep it to ourselves. But some knowledge should be shared with the world."

"Man after my own heart, then. You still got about twenty minutes."

"You know the region, correct? Can you tell us of any spots to keep an eye on?"

I shrug.

"Got a map?"

"I have a pip-boy," he raised his arm. I shake my head.

"It won't work as well as you think."

He nodded, and called for a map to be brought in. One of the Brothers brought in a map, and I started marking places for them. I decided not to include where my other gardens were just in case. They would have to earn those locations. It went a bit over an hour, but they had some kind of coffee made from tobacco and seeds, and I decided to accept a small bag of it as compensation. It tasted good enough and it had the effect of coffee, so I was happy with it.

The coffee had more of an effect on me than I thought, so I knocked on Bob's skull in the lab. Bob stirred, and appeared.

"Harry?" he muttered, "Harry, is that you? It's been..."

"Four years," I nodded, "You've been asleep for some time."

"What is it, Harry, are you...Dying?"

"Not yet, Bob. But remember our deal," I pointed at him. When I died, Bob was to immediately seek out and find Margaret, my daughter, who was, other than myself, the only known still-living wizard.

Wait, no, that's not true. I have grandchildren, and Margaret's been teaching them...

I had a handful of apprentices who were now Shamans in the tribes in the midwest, but they knew enough to defend themselves and their tribes from the supernatural when they needed it, and a bit of my purifying magic. They weren't true wizards. One day, maybe in a thousand years, one of them would become a true wizard. But not in my lifetime.

"I understand. What's going on? Are we bugging out?"

I sighed.

"No, I drank some coffee, and now I'm in a mood. Let's cook some potions, Bob."

A gush of wind emitted from the skull, "Harry, it would be my pleasure. First, we need a bottle of Nuka-Cola..."


	2. Druid of Shi-Cago

I can't begin to describe how great it felt to work on something like this again. In the course of five hours we made four potions: A healing potion, using mutfruit juice as a base, a Haste potion using the Nuka Cola, an Electric potion, using a Nuka Cola Quantum, and a Stout potion, using some beer I'd brewed. Then I went to bed and woke up at noon, got up, and just talked magic with Bob for the rest of the day. I cooked up a storm, too, making a bunch of Komodo meat that would take me a month to finish off, and a Broc flower stew. And corn. Lots and lots of corn. Have I mentioned that the tribals like to grow corn?

The day after my feast, I went back to the garden to check up on the Brotherhood of Steel. They were respecting my wishes and keeping out of Lincoln Park. To my surprise there were a bunch of Tribals there, too, all armed with lower-caliber guns, doing some work for the Brotherhood. A guy in Power Armor was yelling at a line of the Tribals. I approached, and scowled; I knew these tribals. I'd known them since they were children. I'd known their parents since they were children! I knew their ancestors! Hell, I WAS one of their ancestors!

"Excuse me," I butted in, "What's going on here?"

The Brotherhood guy turned to me, his Power Armor creaking as it started to slowly malfunction. His eyes bulged and his scowl, I swear, was going to drill through his nose and rip his face off.

"And who is this little pile of bones?" he growled at me. I thumped my Blasting Rod.

"I'm the Druid of Shi-Cago. You are in my territory. You are here at my discretion. You will show me respect, stranger. What is your name?"

"I don't have time for this Shaman," the man huffed, and he turned back to his line of recruits. The tribals were looking at me, not him.

"WHAT IS SO INTERESTING, THAT YOU ARE IGNORING YOUR COMMANDER?" he hollered at them. One of them stood at attention, the others sort of quivered. I approached the line, and scowled. One of these Tribals was Talor. Talor was one of the apprentice Shamans. He wasn't a hunter or a warrior.

"Talor, why are you doing here?" I approached him. Talor's eyes shot to the Brother, who I could hear was creaking towards me in his armor.

"Old man, leave my recruits alone," he warned. I turned to see the Power Armor glove reaching for my shoulder. I didn't see Talor step out of the line, and raise a piece of carved quartz at the Brother. I did hear him shout,

"Vetas Serwitas!"

The Brother was sent back half a step from Talor's spell, and I winced, and stood between the Brother and the tribals. The Brother was turning purple from rage as he recovered from the spell. He started to take another step, but his armor creaked and refused to move. I pointed my rod at him.

"Ventas Servitas."

A burst of wind came forth from my rod, and it sent the Brother onto his ass and ten feet away. We now had an audience. I stood my ground, but I knew that if they wanted to kill me, they had the firepower to at least try, especially if I attempted to protect the tribals as well. Senior Scribe Packer approached me.

"Mister Dresden, might I ask what is going on?"

I motioned to the youths.

"What are they doing here?"

"They are local Initiates. New members of the Brotherhood of Steel. Part of our Order now, they have dedicated themselves to our cause."

"Bullshit, they're draftees!" I growled. The Scribe scowled.

"How would you know a word like that?"

"I've been around," I said, "You've been to Brahmin Wood. Why?"

"Mister Dresden, we are here to bring security to the region, as well as enlightenment and education. But there are raiders and savages out there that would destroy them, and destroy us. These men and women volunteered when we liberated Brahmin Wood from a raider occupation."

"It was not the Brotherhood, it was warriors from Dirt Heaven wearing their symbol. They just sent more of our kind to help us!" Talor insisted, "They did nothing!"

"We armed them!" Packer insisted.

"Packer, those tribesmen are hunter and ranchers and farmers, they're not soldeirs. You can't just give them guns and expect them to fight a war! And you can't just take their Shamans! They're the best educated of their people, the most knowledgeable. You take their Shamans and they forget how to make medicine, survival methods, and the stories of their past. Hell's Bells, a lot of them are LITERATE! You can't just put guns in their hands and shuffle them off to Chicago."

"What we do with our recruits is none of your affair, Mister Dresden."

I stomped my Blasting Rod, and a small flame emitted from the bottom of the rod.

"Like hell it isn't! Chicago is MY city. If you don't follow MY rules then you can leave."

"You are hardly in a position to evict us, Mister Dresden."

"Forzare!"

Scribe Packer went flying back and he landed, hard, onto the sidewalk. I took three steps towards him and put my Blasting Rod on his chest. The Brothers started pointing guns at me.

"I can kill a lot more of you faster than you could kill me, Packer. Believe me, if I wanted to I could carve Chicago out of the ground and fly it into the middle of the ocean. You told me you were here to teach and improve the lives of the locals."

I pointed to the 'Initiates.'

"This is just sending them to their deaths. If you want to do business in Chicago you do it MY way. I've given you places to look, locations of interest, and even some of my hard work. Any Initiates you bring to Chicago study under me, and then they go back to their towns and their families. Otherwise, keep them off of the streets until they're fully trained. Am I understood?"

He glared at me, and I pressed my blasting rod deeper into his chest.

"Am. I. Under. Stood?"

"Yes, Mister Dresden," he growled at me. I let up on the blasting rod, and I offered my hand, which he took. I dusted him off a bit.

"For a group dedicated to doing good, you haven't made a good impression on me so far," I told him, "See to it that changes, or I'm kicking you out. There's dangerous stuff in Chicago, stuff you don't see in the Wasteland. They're not ready to see that. Hell, even though I just blew you across the sidewalk, you and your lot still wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth."

"What's the truth, then? What's so terrifying that you would stand up to a Paladin in full Power Armor to stop these Initiates from seeing?"

I gripped my staff, and smiled.

"Come with me."


	3. Initiates

Scribe Packer brought a squad of Knights with him that were not armored up in Power Armor, at my request, and they brought the simplest guns with a punch they could, along with some melee weapons. Sledgehammers are not my idea of military ordnance but who am I to argue with results if it meant they came back in one piece.

We traveled for a good twenty minutes on foot before entering the first Monorail. Shortly before the Great War, Chicago had upgraded its public transit system. It was supposed to be this huge 'Green Energy' project that relied on one part magnets and two parts gravity. It was also engineered like the dickens, so huge chunks of it were still operational. It was hooked up to solar panels that grew in some power, but it was not enough, and so they just hooked the whole thing up to a nuclear power plant. I shut down the nuclear power plant decades ago to prevent it from leaking. I didn't use the monorail often, maybe once a year, so that was enough for it to charge its batteries. Any excess is diverted to lighting throughout the city, which is why the street lights still work.

I ignored the Brothers as they commented on how much of a wondrous piece of technology this thing was, and simply meditated for a little bit as we went seven stops. A Rad-man (Most people call them Ghouls but Ghouls to me are something totally different) named Dillon that was good with a wrench and better with a rifle had fixed up this rig to stop at whichever station I set it to. This was the only train in Chicago that did that; the rest were all automated, and didn't work for me.

We stepped off the train, and I brought them to view what had been Sears Tower. Scribe Packer scowled at the sight. The tower still stood, kind of. Sears Tower had been overhauled, and essentially rebuilt to become like a skyscraper Vault by the eccentric billionaire that owned it. Killinger Marcone thought that Vaul-Tec's engineers would preserve him and his criminal empire from the nuclear attacks. And in that regard, he was right. But what he didn't engineer was a way to keep out all the creatures fleeing from the collapsing Never-Never from breaking their way into the skyscraper and stealing as many humans as possible. I'd done what I could, but it happened so quickly. I was able to get Killinger and his family out along with a few more refugees; they founded a sizable town called Quincy northwest of what remains of St. Louis.

"I suppose you've heard rumors of the Skyscraper Vault?" I asked Brother Packer, who nodded.

"There are over two thousand Ghouls in there," I was referring to the Rad-men, "All of them either feral or simply crazy. And they are HEAVILY armed. You'd need air support to take that tower. And the things that destroyed it, from the outside in? Those things I'm still hunting down. There were soldiers in that Vault. Soldiers in Power Armor. I had a feral Ghoul wearing a full suit try and rip my face off. The suit malfunctioned, thank God. Don't get me wrong, that tower is a prize. But it's also a death trap for even your toughest and most experienced soldiers. Those tribals are wasted on this city."

"I think I understand, Mister Dresden," he nodded, "I'll have to tell the Elders about this, and I'll forward them your recommendation."

"Don't shove me into the bureaucracy!" I snarled at him, "Make it happen. Any tribals that get sent this way, you turn them back. Understand me?"

He nodded.

"Now let's go," I said.

"But we just got here."

"Packer, you do not want to be stuck here after dark. If you think Deathclaws are nasty, you don't want to get bit by the things out here. You'll get addicted if you're bit, and then your arm will turn green, start glowing, and then fall off, and that's IF it doesn't drain all of your blood first."

"Nasty."

"Very," I stepped onto the monorail car. We had the monorail go back, which took as twice as long since it was more or less uphill, which warranted additional use of the electronics and the magnets, which did not agree with me.

Upon our return, I found the unpleasant situation of seeing the Initiates being detained for their insubordination. Talor and another of the Initiates had been beaten. I was starting to think that the Brotherhood of Steel weren't good guys. The Paladin that had been 'training' them was watching them, but I also saw him applying some bandages to Talor's face.

"What happened?" I demanded. The Paladin turned to me, and took a step back, and his back stiffened. Good, he was afraid of me. He should be.

"They refused to be detained. One of my Knights got a bit carried away," the Paladin said, "The Knight has been disciplined for being rough."

"Good. All right, you guys, I've got room at my place. We'll get some healing powder on you two, and you can take a nice long sleep."

"Paladin Mendel, I want this clear: Chicago is not safe for locally recruited Initiates," Scribe Packer informed him, "Any sent to us are to be returned to Bunker Alpha for reassignment. These four will be released to Mr. Dresden for tonight, and Talor is released from his duties altogether, if he so wishes."

Paladin Mendel shook his head, "You're too giving to this tribal, Scribe Packer."

"This tribal has given us invaluable information that, without, we would all end up dead. Thanks to him we have methods of agriculture to study, and an idea of what's in Chicago. I would recommend to all Brothers to listen to what Mister Dresden has to say."

The Paladin nodded, and opened the door. The tribals reluctantly stepped out. Talor bowed to me.

"Druid Dresden, thank you for your help. If you are willing, I would like to become your student, and learn to care for this great garden as you have," Talor said. I rolled my eyes.

"Your place is with your village, I have nothing to teach you, Talor."

"But I have seen your spells! They are as you taught my Shaman, and the Shaman before him, and before him! You have so much more to teach me!" he insisted as we walked.

"Kid, the things I can teach you are things you don't want to learn. Things you and your tribe are not ready to know. I can't help you because you can't help me. You have the literacy of a third grader, and being able to read is really important."

"So teach me!"

"Teach yourself, I don't have time to teach Elementary school."

He stopped, and we all paused, "Then I will remain with the Brotherhood of Steel, and they will teach me to read."

I groaned, "That is not a good idea, Talor. You're best off learning from your Shaman and learning things for yourself."

"It is my decision to make," he continued to walk forward, "I will remain with the Brotherhood, and learn to read and write so you will teach me."

"You stay with the Brotherhood and you'll end up shot or eaten," I said off-hand. It took me a moment to realize what I'd just said and how that must have sounded. I sighed, and turned to the other tribals.

"What I meant was, the Brotherhood put your lives at risk without appreciating the danger they were putting you all in. You're more valuable to them, to your families, and to yourselves if you're properly trained and ready to face the wasteland."

I stroked my beard, "I know some Rad-men that would be able to teach you all you need to know. I can see if I can't hook the Brotherhood up with them."

"What would Ghouls have to teach us?" one of the tribals asked.

"It's got to be better than being dropped in the wasteland and told to survive," the tribal with the bruises said, "For every nine Initiates that join the Brotherhood, one lives to become a Squire."

"Meat into the grinder..." I sighed. I was DEFINITELY contacting Dillon. A ten percent survival rate...What a raw deal..."

I put them up in some of the apartments in the building next to mine. It was warded and there were plenty of guns for them to defend themselves with. Mister and Mouse had dragged home something huge to eat, probably a Brahmin that got too close to the city. I still had plenty of food to eat in the icebox. I knocked on Bob's skull before I went to bed, and left him a book I'd picked up some three years ago in a High School library. I don't know if he still liked romance novels, but I figured it was a safe bet. I was too tired to stick around to talk, though, and went straight to bed.


	4. The Last Queen of the Faeries

That night, I had a nightmare. I don't dream vividly often. I've trained myself to control my dreams over the years, long before the Great War. After the Great War, I trained myself to not dream at all. When I do dream, they're usually pleasant ones.****

This was not a pleasant dream.****

There were screams. A lot of them. People were being ripped apart, and not just in a physical sense. They were being torn asunder inside and out and from their minds. Tortured in every possible way. Most of these souls were betrayed. They expected something of someone, and now that person was tearing them to pieces. I've seen Hell, seen demons torturing hapless people who made a deal for power or safety or whatever.****

Hell was supposed to be something you experience AFTER you die. I could see the sounds, smell the colors, and taste the scents of their torment. Steel, ozone, formaldehyde.****

One of these things was not a soul. It was a being of some kind. A familiar one. Fair skinned, black hair, thin body...This was the most visual part of the dream. I could see here clearly. She was in pieces, with new bits of metal and pipes and wires going in and out of her once beautiful body. Even mangled and dismembered, she was still beautiful...Even tortured and torn, she still had grace...The fairy that had once been my Godmother...Lea looked 'at' me, and screamed, ****

**"**Harry! Harry come for me! Harry please! You must kill meeeeee! Harry!"****

I thought that the twitch had woken me up, but a split second later I realized i was still dreaming, still seeing a vision of a suit of Power Armor. No, not one suit. Many suits. There was a man, in black, surrounded by black suits of Power Armor. I knew this man. I don't know who he was, but I knew him, at some point. Those Power Armor suits, I don't recognize, but they're definitely Power Armor. Big and bulky, somewhat resembling beetles. The man suddenly became aware of whatever was happening to me, him, and Leah, and I pulled out of the dream. I didn't want to touch minds.****

I woke with a gasp; I hadn't been breathing. I laid in bed, breathing, catching my breath until my vision returned. I lit a candle with a spell, and then realized it was bright; the sun was out. I took several more breaths to finally get my sight all the way back. I took one last deep breath, and I could feel everything again. Oh good. I hate visions, I really do.****

I guess I have a lot of questions for Bob today on how Lea, who is no longer connected to me, was able to project into my dreams. And that man in black surrounded by men in Power Armor? Talk about ominous. I pulled out some leftover for breakfast. I'm going to need to conjure up some more ice. Mouse smells it, and the dog runs over to me, panting and begging. Unlike Mister, Mouse has remained exactly the same as he was when he first exploded from the cute little fuzzball of a puppy I got in Tibet, except for the fact that he's gotten grayer, more cantankerous, and whines more about his bones. Sort of like me in that regard. He sired most of the packs in the Chicago area over the years; most of them can draw their ancestry to him. Not that dogs really care much about that sort of thing.****

**"**No, you're not getting any. Mister caught you dinner last night, you have plenty of food," I insisted, and Mouse grumbled in protest, still following me to the dining table. I watched the Tribals practicing their drills; I really hope that Talor doesn't stay with the Brotherhood, or at least finds a job that's out of harm's way. Hell's bells I don't want any of them to put themselves in harm's way, especially if they're draftees. But I can't protect them all, not unless I want to go about and take down the Brotherhood myself. In times like these, who am I to be making even more enemies, anyway?****

I ate through my breakfast, giving Mouse bits and pieces, despite my promise to not give him any. It's a game that we do, a game that Mister was sure to get in on when he thundered into the dining room, meowed, and gave me kitty-eyes. And by 'Meow' I mean he gave me a roar, which I believe is what a meow is anyway. I threw him some bits, too, not that it would take any edge of his ravenous hunger. I could feed him a Brahmin and he'd still beg for scraps. Ancient habits die hardest.****

I was finished with my breakfast, when there was a knock at the door. Damn kids probably sprained an ankle. 'Help us Druid Dresden, I don't want to die out here.' I had someone tell me that over a sprained ankle. Now that I think of it, he kind of had a point, actually...I opened the door, blasting staff in hand, ready to yell at the Tribals for horsing around, when a familiar face was glaring into mine. In the eyes. I yelped and halfway jumped out of my shoes at that, but this person didn't have a soul to gaze into.****

She looked like a human. The perfect woman, in fact: large, firm, luscious breasts and a tight, adorable butt that makes men red with embarrassment and women green with envy. She was wrapped in white leather over her top and a matching loincloth that covered everything, but only just. She had a Deathclaw skull mounted on her head as a helmet, and a hairy Deathclaw skin as a cape. Her snow white hair had been shaved in a reverse mohawk, dangling of the sides of her head, with a bald spot straight down the middle that was closed off at the ends.****

**"**Hello, Harry," she said to me in that soothing, chilly voice. It was like warm water rolling down on a sunburn, the water wasn't really warm, but it was cool to the touch. It hurt, but you wanted more, "It's been some time."****

**"**Fifty years."****

**"**May I come in?" she asked, and I smirked.****

**"**Not by invitation," I knew those old fairy tricks. She stepped through my door after hesitating; it was everything I could to not gawk. I saw the Tribals; each and every one had failed in that regard, even the girl. Talor stepped towards the door to follow her, but I shut it in his face. I was still a bit mad at him. Find a living judge and a lawyer and sue me.****

**"**So, Mab. What brings you back to Chicago? Still enchanting Tribals to do your bidding, getting them to sell you their souls just to live a few more months?" I asked. Mab cringed at my words.****

**"**I know what you think of me, Harry. Please, do not judge me, I am only doing what it takes to stay alive in this world. To make sure my people stay alive. Our home, our dwelling, our REALITY has been shredded to pieces. I am no less a monster than the humans that put my people in this situation."****

**"**I don't know about that, I still say there's something fishy about the Great War. Not that I can do much about that now. And besides, humans can create as much as they can destroy. You and your kind are just parasites."****

She winced again at my accusation, and just hung her head, nodding, "You're right..."****

Hell's Bells, she was preying on my sense of chivalry I can't stand to see a woman in distress, even if she isn't really a woman. I took a breath and steeled myself. It wasn't going to work this time.****

**"**What do you want, Mab?"****

**"**Did you have the dream too, Harry? Lea was calling for you."****

I stopped and scowled.****

**"**What are you talking about?"****

Mab turned to me, and held her head high, "The dream of Lea, tied to that abominable machine. She was calling for you, Harry. Calling in all directions, to every mind she could possibly think of. Lea needs your help, and needs your mercy. I couldn't kill Lea if I wanted to, she grew too powerful. But you, Harry, you are still connected to her in ways we are not. Even if your debt to me is fulfilled, she is still your Godmother. You are bound as family, though not by blood."****

**"**That doesn't make any sense by any stretch of the imagination."****

**"**Bonds, Harry. They mean more now than they ever have before, especially bonds that date back before the Great War. Anyone you were close to or were acquaintances with that are still alive, you can contact and send images through. Even dead ones can still be tapped into in some ways."****

**"**Why can't she just do herself off? She has the power to end and scatter herself."****

**"**The Never Never is attempting to rebuild itself through these bonds, through all bonds. The more magic there is in the world, the faster it will rebuild. You, Harry, and your daughter and your apprentices, the ones that still live? You are the anchors of which the Never Never are being rebuilt. Lea called you through those bonds and through those anchors, because as you are an anchor, and she is connected to you, she is also one such anchor."****

**"**I don't understand."****

**"**Because she is bonded to and through you, Harry, she cannot exert her power unto herself. Just as you could not to yourself if you tried. An external force must do it, even if it is one of those other bonds."****

A shiver ran down my spine at the implications.****

**"**Does that mean...I can't...Die naturally?" Wizards live to be about two hundred, three hundred if they're lucky. I figured my death was oncoming any time soon. I hadn't admitted it, but about thirty years ago, I'd more or less stopped aging. I stopped getting new aches and pains, and I stopped losing hair.****

She nodded, "Yes, Harry. You are effectively immortal, until the Never Never rebuilds itself and no longer needs you, or until you are killed by something else. After the Never Never releases you, you will age as you once had."****

**"**So I'm stuck as an old geyser until the Never Never fixes itself, which could take THOUSANDS OF YEARS. Hell's Bells, even Margret's gray in the hair. She's going to be stuck as a fifty five year old woman for that long?"****

**"**There is a way to fix that," Mab said, turning to me. I shook my head.****

**"**Oh, no. No, no, no, I am not making that mistake again. I am not making any deals with you, Mab."****

**"**This one comes with no strings attached," she said. She reached out and grabbed me by my impressive four foot beard, and tugged me to her. I squirmed and protested, but she grabbed my head and locked lips with me. If the situation were different I would have enjoyed this profusely. I could feel energy flowing from her, to me. She held the kiss for two minutes, and I was starting to choke from not being able to breathe. She let go and I gasped.****

**"**What the hell was that?" I demanded. She smiled; she now had wrinkles on her face that were not there before. Her snow white hair seemed even whiter now.****

**"**A gift, Harry Dresden. You do the world little good as an old man. But a younger man, in his prime? You will make all the difference. Even if you couldn't-or simply didn't know how to-before."****

I raised my eyebrows, "So I'm going to...Age in reverse until I'm physically in my forties, then?"****

She nodded, "With just a touch of gray for wisdom."****

**"**Well...Thank you. I'll do what I can to...Help...Lea. Also, the man in black, surrounded by the men in armor, who was that? In the dream?"****

Mab stared at me, "What man?"****

I sighed, "After the dream of Lea, I saw a man in a black suit, with a black hat, wearing a black mask. I...knew him. I couldn't tell who it was."****

She shook her head, "He must be an acquaintance of yours I have not met that is still alive from before the war."****

**"**Probably an acquaintance I'm eager to not meet again," I sighed. I was already thinking of people it might be. I was sort of thinking wishfully, listing Wizards I knew of more than anything else.****

**"**There is one more thing, Harry. That young Shaman out there? Talor? I made a deal with him."****

I thumped my staff, "You did WHAT?"****

**"**My people are dying Harry. Every year there are fewer and fewer of us, and there are no births. No new fairies. One less now, with Leah undoubtedly in need of death! He won't be like the others, Harry, not just a temporary stop-gap. I will teach him magic, and make him a proper Wizard. His tribe will flourish with him. He made that sacrifice for his own people."****

**"**He sold his soul to protect his tribe..."****

**"**No, not just his soul. Himself. He is to be my king; he will be a Faerie and I will be the Winter Mother. But we will change, and challenge, what we are and what we will become. His power will flow through the Faeries and we will be rejuvenated, and we will adapt to this new world."****

**"**You don't always want to be something that is adapted to this world," I warned her, "You might not like it."****

**"**We will have the adaptability and creativity of humans, and the magic of Faeries. Your people survived, and for as long as there have been humans, there have been Faeries. And as Humans have had to change to this new world, so will we. But we are unguided, blind in the sands of the wastes. We live for now, but we die."****

I scratched my beard irritably. She had a point; despite the end of the world, we Humans had survived, and we were slowly on the up.****

**"**Well, you might as well let me teach him, then. You can teach him how to use magic. I can teach him how to be a Wizard. He should learn from the last Elder of the White Council."****

She smiled at me, "You're too kind, Harry."****

**"**It's what you wanted me to do anyway," I reminded her, and she shrugged with a smirk.****

**"**Say hello to Toot-Toot for me, would you, Harry? He is welcome back to my Court anytime. Our kind should stick together, even if he is...Not quite the same anymore."****

**"**I'll get started on his pizza. Is there anything else you want to sucker me into?"****

**"**That's it for now, Harry. Until next time," she gave me another kiss, this one on the cheek, and stepped out my door. I watched as she spoke with Talor. His expression went from despair to excitement as she explained things to him. I got out some flour in my kitchen and started making the dough for the pizza. Talor rushed into my house, ignoring my Threshold, though undoubtedly he was affected by it. He rushed into the kitchen after searching for me for a few minutes, a grin from ear to ear. Just before he began to speak, I held up my hand.****

**"**First lesson: Pizza. Wash your hands. I want you to knead this for a little while. Once this pizza is done, we'll go meet Toot-Toot."


	5. World's Greatest Scavenger

Talor started kneading the dough while I started grating the cheese, greasing the pan, preheating the oven, and carving meat out of the Komodo that Mister had caught the other day, chopping it into small pieces, and grilling the meat. When the dough was ready, I spread it over two pans, dabbed a can of pork and beans as the sauce, sprinkled Brahmin cheese on it, then put the meat and a case of Mentats on top. I repeated this for a second pizza; one pie wasn't going to be enough for the fairy. Toot-Toot got addicted to Mentats just before the Great War, and addicted to pizza almost a century before that. I would have used sauce from plants in my garden, but I don't know how to make sauce, and tomato sauce didn't keep even in cans after a hundred twenty years. Pork and beans, however, had enough preservatives to make a mummy.

"All right," I sighed to Talor once the two pizzas were in the oven. I pulled off a couple of Dr. Seuss books from my shelf; I'd used those to teach Margaret how to read, and I'd put wards on them to preserve them. I handed them to Talor, and sat next to him, "I want you to read those to me. Don't worry too much about getting it wrong, the point is just to read, okay?"

Talor scowled, "What does this have to do with magic?"

"Everything. Reading is important if you want to write down notes, read someone else's notes, and just be smarter overall. An ignorant wizard is a danger to himself and to everyone else. You're not stupid, Talor, but you're ignorant. Reading and writing isn't important to your tribe. As such you've forgotten who you are and where you came from. I'll tell you and your friends the story of how Brahmin Wood was founded tonight. For now, however, read those books to me. And wake me up if I fall asleep. I'm an old man, I do that."

Talor read the books to me; he knew some of the basics of reading, so it wasn't too difficult for him, though I had to help with with the enunciation a few times. He read seven of the books by the time the timer went off, and we put the pizzas into boxes, which I fastened onto a harness onto Talor's back. I retried my .45 and my blasting rod, and held up an old sawed-off Remington double barrel shotgun. I got it from a friend a long time ago for safe keeping; he never came and picked it up.

"Do you know how to use this?"

"A boomstick? Yes. This is the dangerous end. It is always loaded. My finger is the only safety. Point and shoot, and things die, so be careful of what is on the other side."

I handed the shotgun to him, "It's a twelve-gauge double barrel Remington shotgun. S-Mart's top of the line. I'll give you forty shells, try not to use them all on the same Glowpire."

"Glowpire?"

"Hope we don't meet any."

We set out, carrying some water with us. The pizza boxes were well insulated, so they'd stay warm. It was a two hour walk to Toot-Toot's both ways, so we'd return just before dark. We were being watched by the feral Rad-Men, but they didn't attack us. They knew that I killed Glowpires, which fed on the Feral Ghouls when humans were not available. Their presence had Talor on edge, but he didn't do anything about it.

We walked by the Chicago Vaul-Tec building, where we heard gunshots coming from inside. Probably the Brotherhood of Steel doing something stupid. The front door burst open, and a man in his thirties burst out. He was wearing a fedora and a Brahmin leather jacket. He had a smoking pistol in his right hand and a piece of technology that might as well have been a moon rock to me. On his right forearm, he had a pip-boy. On his left hip, he had a bullwhip. He had a nearly-empty backpack. He looked at us, wide-eyed, then looked over his shoulder, and back to us.

"Run!" he told us, and he bolted down the street. A red laser shot out of the building, and Talor and I bolted after the man. Robots poured out of the building, making threats in friendly voices about wanting to pacify us and politely informing us that we were hardened, irrevocable criminals that hated America for stealing from Vaul-Tec. Talor turned while we were running and fired both barrels at one of the robots; it simply dented the Brain-bot's armor. Brain-Bots...I hate Brain-Bots. They still have living people inside of them, driven mad after all this time.

"Fulminos!" I shouted at the Brain-Bot. Lighting spouted from my Rod and reached out to the robot, engulfing it in volts of electricity. The Brain-Bot shook violently, and its voice modulated up and down before fizzling and falling over, finally putting the poor bastard out of his misery. Two more robots, one a Sentry bot and the other a Mr. Handy, followed us. The Sentry Bot opened fire with its Gatling Gun, and we wisely ducked into an alleyway.

"Follow me!" the man said. He put his pistol into its holster, grabbed his bullwhip, and cracked it upwards towards an old fire escape; the whip's end wrapped around a piece of metal on the fire escape, and he climbed up. Once he was on it, Talor followed.

"I'm too old for this shit," I groaned, and I started climbing the whip after Talor. They started reeling the whip up, hoisting me. The fire escape groaned and creaked. The bricks it was bolted into started to crack and protest. The man with the fedora dashed up the fire escape onto the roof, and we followed suit. Just as I stepped onto the roof, the fire escape gave out, and fell to the ground in a mighty crash. The robots came into the alley, saw nothing, and returned to Vaul-Tec disappointed. Talor and I looked to the man, who was panting. He held up the do-hickey and smiled at it.

"The Brotherhood of Steel will pay me a fortune for this!" he nodded, and he stuffed it into his backpack.

"What was that all about?" I demanded. The man shrugged.

"You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess. I'm Dr. Henry Jones the Tenth. Everyone calls me Indie."

I stood straight, still panting.

"The tenth, huh? I knew Dr. Jones the Second, third, and fourth. I didn't know there were any more of you."

He nodded, "Oh, yeah. The Third had three sons, and each of those sons had a Dr. Henry Jones, as well. One bloodline actually has a Dr. Jones the seventeenth. I'm from the unbroken line, though. The true line of Dr. Henry 'Indiana' Jones junior!"

"Right. So, uh, what are you doing in Chicago? I thought you were from California?"

He shrugged, "The Brotherhood of Steel came out this way, so I figured I would follow them. We've been selling technology to the Brotherhood of Steel for generations. With the New California Republic using a lot of tech and settling places, there's a lot of competition. No class, though. No respect for the professionals. They find a laser pistol and they sell it to the NCR for a few caps. They don't record the model number, its condition, its manufacture date, where it was found, anything like that."

"Well, it was good meeting you, Dr. Jones. We've got some pizzas to deliver," I said.

"Mind if I come with you? Safety in numbers and whatnot, and I need a place to crash tonight. I saw these glowing Ghouls that were climbing on the walls. They had these teeth...I'm not sure what could have made something like that, but I don't think it was just radiation."

"Glowpires," I said, "And I guess, just don't piss off any more robots."

"Glowpires?"

"You don't want to meet any of them, trust me," I said, leading the way into the building down the stairs. There were a few radroaches but that was it. Indie kept stopping at every floor to check it out, but it was just an apartment building.

"I didn't catch your name, by the way," Indie said once we were on the street again.

"Dresden. Harry Dresden."

"Ah, yes, I've heard stories about you! The wizard! So they're true, then?"

"Most of them," I nodded, "Mutt insisted to his dying day that I cheated him out of the Sheath of Amoracchius, but it was never his to claim anyway."

"Have you ever heard of a GECK?"

"Can't say I have."

"I have!" Talor said, "They are magical boxes that make the desert bloom and waters flow!"

"Not much 'magic' about it, though I wouldn't be surprised if magic was used," Indie said, "They're terraforming kits. I thought there might be one or two in Chicago, especially considering Lincoln Park's greenery."

"None that I've seen or heard about. Lincoln Park was my doing," I said.

"What about Sears Tower? It was a Vault, it might have one."

"Don't go to Sears Tower, it's way too dangerous," I told him, "I don't even go there very often. There's stuff that isn't from our world that haunts that place."

"What, like aliens? I've fought Wanamingos before. Nasty critters..."

"No, I mean literally haunting. Ghosts and goblins and faeries and so on. Nasty spooks."

"I believe it," Indy nodded, "I've heard all the stories."

"I don't!" Talor huffed, "I've only seen magic, and only one faerie. And she looked human! She felt wrong, but she looked human."

"You felt her?" Indy charged with a smirk. Talor turned a delightfully hilarious pink.

"Not yet," he admitted, then tapped his heel, "But I'm destined to!"

I stopped and turned to Talor, grabbed him by the collar, and brought him close. For an old man, I'm still pretty damn strong.

"Listen, gasbag, she didn't pick you because you're special. She picked you to get me to train you for her, so she doesn't have to. You're special BECAUSE she picked you. Get that through your thick tribal skull."

Talor looked at me, and tears started welling up in his eyes. Oh, god, I just shattered this poor kid's dreams. I let go of his collar, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, Talor. You're special, yes. You have the Spark. You're one in a million, almost literally, if not literally. You have what it takes to become a Wizard, errr, a Druid, like me. But Mab is using you to get access to me. I'm training you so that you can protect yourself and Brahmin Wood from her. Faeries are dangerous."

"But aren't we going to go see a faerie now?"

"Toot-Toot is ESPECIALLY dangerous. Just in a different way."

I explained some of the basics to Talor, with Indy listening in. Indy, not Talor, was the one always bombarding me with questions and What-Ifs. It's annoying, but I like inquisitive students.

"All right, we're here," I said. I slid one of the pizza boxes out of the harness Talor was carrying, "Now don't underestimate Toot-Toot. He might seem simple, but he's one of the smartest faeries I know. He might not be good at striking deals with mortals, but he used to be a General in the Faerie armies. We've fought together in a few wars. We even fought in Anchorage together. When the bombs fell, he scraped together a small army and killed off all sorts of bad spooks that were threatening the survivors. Toot-Toot's a hero, and he's smarter than either of you. He just doesn't realize that."

I let out a loud whistle, a cackle, and a few clicks. This was Toot-Toot's real name. It had changed over the years; true names can do that if the person changes, and Toot-Toot had changed more than anyone I knew. When I first met him, the faerie was no bigger than my middle finger.

There was a loud thump, and my teeth chattered. I could see a neon purple glow down the alleyway. At first it was just a faint, small light. Talor smiled at it, but then the light got bigger. And bigger. And the thumps got louder, and louder as Toot-Toot stepped out of his abode and hulked over to us. Toot-Toot stood ten feet tall and six feet wide. He had wild, spiky purple hair the same color of his purple glow. Despite his huge size and bulk, his face was still slim, making his head look way too small for the rest of his body.

"Pizza? Do you have PIZZA?" Toot-Toot's eyes were almost popping out, and his nostrils flared. His voice was light, but deep, like a baritone bell that didn't echo. He stood on the balls of his feet. His little faery wings were no bigger than my hands, but still they flapped furiously; they still gave him a bit of a lift.

"Yes, Toot-Toot, I have pizza for you," I held the box out for him. He snatched it greedily and tore open the box, and he was going to grab the whole pie with his hand when I yelled at him.

"HEY! That's not a delivery pizza, it's homemade! I spent a lot of time on it, the least you can do is take your time, and enjoy it, instead of just slobbering it all at once!"

Toot-Toot looked at what he was about to do, and frowned. he looked at me, and gave a sob.

"I'm sorry, Harry...I'm so ungrateful...I'm a terrible friend...Thank you, Harry...I don't deserve this..."

He let out a sniff, and was about to cry, all over the pizza. Now, faerie tears are valuable and really useful, especially Toot-Toot's, as he's now a freak. But I also hated to see my friend cry. I accepted back the pizza, took out a vial, and caught some of Toot-Toot's tears as he started to sob, then handed back the pizza with a warm smile.

"I'm sorry, Toot-Toot, I didn't mean to make you cry," I said, ignoring Indie's horrified glare towards me. I was honest; underhanded, maybe, but I was honest, "Here, I got something from you, now you can have the pizza back. We're even. There we go, a smile, that's what I like to see."

"You're a good friend, Harry," Toot-Toot sniffed, ignoring the fact that I'd just taken advantage of his emotional state. That's what a good friend is; he doesn't even begrudge you when you use his pain for magical materials. That sort of thing is really hard to come by, though. I couldn't pass up the chance. God damn, I'm such an asshole...I gave Toot-Toot a hug.

"You're a better friend, Toot-Toot. You went above and beyond for me when I need you. Now, I have a message from Mab for you. But first there are some people I want you to meet. This is Talor, my new apprentice. He helped me make the pizza."

Toot-Toot was nibbling on a slice, enjoying the flavor. He held out a hand, and shook Talor's.

"I'm Toot-Toot."

"I'm Talor."

"Thank you for the pizza."

"I have another one for you," Talor motioned to it, and Toot-Toot's eyes lit up. A grin erupted that reached from ear to ear.

"Really?" he squeaked.

"Yes, but it's for later," I shook my finger. Toot-Toot nodded.

"Hi, Toot-Toot, I'm-" Indie stepped forward.

"You weren't given a turn!" Toot-Toot snarled at him, raising his fist at Indie. Indie took a few steps back and put his hand on his pistol. I stepped between them with a cool, consistent stride.

"Toot-Toot, this is Dr. Henry 'Indiana' Jones the Tenth. You can call him Indie."

Toot-Toot smiled and offered his hand in greeting. Indie removed his hand from the gun, and shook the faerie's hand.

"I'm Toot-Toot."

"I'm Indie."

"I'm glad to meet you."

"I'm...Glad to meet you, too."

"Why don't you three come inside? It's going to rain."

"Good idea," I said, and we stepped into his house. Despite several apartment building about that could accommodate him, Toot-Toot improvised his home, which actually had a Threshold on it. Toot-Toot was a very strange faery. Since he invited me in, I didn't have to worry about it. The shack on the surface was just a cover. Toot-Toot's real place was a small mansion that had long sunk into the Chicago swamp that was more or less only accessible from the Undercity. It was huge, and well lit. There were plants growing everywhere, guided and grown by Toot-Toot. We'd learned how to grow things in this world together. Lincoln Park was as much his breakthrough as it was mine, just as his garden was my innovation as well as his.

I noticed that there was a truck parked outside.

"Toot-Toot, did you ever get rid of those barrels you got in California?"

Toot-Toot was silent.

"Toot-Toot, I told you those things were poison!"

"I KNOW Harry! But those barrels made me what I am, I want to know why!" Toot-Toot growled at me.

"Barrels? What barrels?" Indie scowled.

"If you don't destroy them, I'll do it for you, Toot-Toot. They're dangerous, we can't afford to study them in the city, and we can't let them fall into the wrong hands, either. You know that."

"I do..." he hung his head.

"Where in California did you get them?" Indie asked.

"I don't know what to do with them, though!"

Indie stepped in front of Toot-Toot, finally getting the massive Faery's attention.

"Where. Did you get. Those barrels."


End file.
